Alan's POV
If guilt had a heartbeat, it would sound exactly like hers.
I could hear it through the quiet hum of my office — the steady rhythm of Ashley's soft breathing as she sat across from me, pretending to read a file. Her fingers fidgeted against the edge of the paper, her eyes fixed on a line she clearly wasn't seeing.
She looked fine — calmer than she'd been at the hospital — but I'd learned enough to know that "fine" meant she was about to fall apart.
It had been three days since the doctor said the word pregnant, and since then, everything inside me had shifted. I didn't know what kind of man I was supposed to be in this situation — but I knew what kind I refused to be.
So I took care of her.
Every evening after everyone else left, she'd stay behind "to finish up," and I'd pretend I believed her. We'd sit there, just the two of us — files scattered across the desk, half-drunk cups of coffee between us — and when the silence stretched too long, I'd move closer.
Sometimes I'd kneel and take her feet in my hands, rubbing gently, tracing circles on her ankle until her shoulders loosened. She'd always protest, cheeks flushed.
"Alan, you don't have to—"
"I know," I'd say quietly. "But I want to."
Then she'd stop arguing. Always.
It wasn't about romance. Not entirely. It was about grounding her, grounding us — reminding both of us that there was still something steady in the middle of all this madness.
Tonight felt heavier than usual. She hadn't spoken more than five sentences all day, and when I brushed a stray hair from her face, she didn't even look up.
"Talk to me," I said finally.
She sighed. "About what?"
"About whatever's eating you alive."
Her lips parted, like she wanted to say something — then she just shook her head. "You wouldn't understand."
"I might surprise you."
For a moment, I thought she'd tell me. But instead, she closed the file and stood. "I'm tired."
Before I could reply, she turned for the door — and I followed on instinct, catching her wrist.
"Ash."
She froze. Her pulse trembled beneath my thumb.
I didn't say anything else. I just looked at her — really looked — and saw the weight she was carrying in her silence.
I lifted her hand to my lips, kissed the inside of her wrist, then her forehead, then — without thinking — pressed my lips to the gentle curve of her belly.
She gasped softly. "Alan…"
"I'm not going anywhere," I murmured. "Not now. Not ever."
When I looked up, her eyes were glistening. She reached out like she wanted to touch my face — but didn't. Instead, she turned away again, whispering, "You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."
Maybe she was right. But I meant every word anyway.
Ashley's POV
I hated how safe I felt around him.
It was ridiculous, really. Alan Jean — the one man I should've been terrified of, disgusted by, wary of — had somehow become the person who made my world stop spinning for a second.
He didn't judge me when I snapped at him for no reason. He didn't flinch when I cried quietly in his office that night, trying to process the fact that my life was a ticking bomb.
He just stayed. Always stayed.
But that made everything worse.
Because every time he looked at me like that — like I was someone he chose to protect — the guilt clawed deeper.
My father would kill me if he ever found out.
My fiancé, Richard, would crumble.
And I — I'd lose every piece of who I was supposed to be.
So when Alan kissed my forehead that night and whispered those words, something inside me broke.
I wanted to believe him.
God, I wanted to.
But this wasn't a love story. This was a disaster wrapped in tenderness.
That evening, I called Tessa.
She picked up on the first ring, her tone sharp as ever. "You sound like you've been crying."
"Maybe because I have," I muttered.
She sighed. "What happened now? Chloe again?"
"No." I hesitated. "It's Alan."
A pause. Then, "What about him?"
"He knows."
Another pause. Then a soft, drawn-out, "Oh."
I waited for her to freak out — but she didn't.
Instead, she said, "And?"
"And… he's been amazing. Too amazing." I sat down, burying my face in my hands. "He takes care of me, Tessa. He doesn't even make me feel guilty. He kisses my forehead, my—" I stopped. "Never mind."
Tessa laughed quietly. "You're smiling. I can hear it."
"I'm not!"
"You are."
I bit my lip. "I don't even know if I can keep it."
Her tone softened. "Ash, you don't have to decide right now. Just… breathe. Let him be there. Maybe for once, you don't have to do everything alone."
I didn't answer. Because the truth was, I didn't know how not to be alone.
Alan's POV
Leah knew before I even said it.
I'd barely walked into her apartment when she crossed her arms and said, "You're hiding something."
I dropped onto her couch. "Always a pleasure, sis."
"Spill it."
I rubbed the back of my neck. "It's about Ashley."
Her eyebrows shot up. "The enemy heiress? What, did you two kill each other yet?"
"Not exactly."
"Alan."
"She's pregnant."
Leah blinked. Once. Twice. Then burst out laughing.
"It's not funny," I snapped.
She gasped between laughs. "Oh, it's very funny. You— Mr. Controlled, Mr. Ice-Cold — knocked up the Walters' golden girl? That's Shakespearean!"
"Leah!"
"Okay, okay." She sobered, eyes softening. "Does she know you're actually going to step up?"
"Of course," I said. "I love her."
Her grin faded. "Then be ready to fight for her. Because when this comes out — and it will — both your families will lose their minds."
"I know."
But as I said it, I thought of Ashley's face earlier that night — the fear in her eyes when she whispered she didn't know if she could keep the baby.
And I realized it wasn't the families I was afraid of.
It was losing her.
Ashley's POV
Later that night, I lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.
I should've felt terrified. Maybe I did. But beneath the fear was something else — something quieter, warmer.
His words replayed in my head: I'm not going anywhere.
For the first time in weeks, I believed him.
But belief didn't erase the chaos.
It just made it harder to walk away.
And as sleep crept in, one thought stayed clear — no matter how much we tried to hide, the truth was already growing inside me.
Sooner or later, everyone would know.
And when they did…
everything would change.